


My Dear Patient

by Tusokoo



Category: Wander Over Yonder (Cartoon)
Genre: Acceptance, F/M, Kisses, Lovesickness, M/M, sorry lol, tfw ur bf is a giant banana that sounds like Weird Al
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 16:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19299307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tusokoo/pseuds/Tusokoo
Summary: Why must you be cursed to laugh at dumb puns?





	My Dear Patient

How did a maniacal banana-like punster slip his way into your life, effectively making it a living hell? Well, it all started with a pun - one ridiculous pun that caused you to laugh like there was no tomorrow. 

But, here’s the thing - it _wasn’t_ funny. Not even remotely! It was dumb. And, unfortunately, you had a habit of chuckling at dumb puns. 

That surely caught his attention, for a valid reason, too. Usually, people only scoffed or rolled their eyes at his puns, so it must’ve been nice to hear someone laugh for a change, and on their OWN accord as well. 

Day after day, he would leave rubber chickens on your doorstep as a way to express his newfound infatuation with you. You didn’t think much of it to begin with until he actually started talking to you. And, yes, _flirting_ with you by using his stupid gizmos, his stupid jokes, and his accordion.

Nevertheless, you had to admit that you wereslightly drawn to the floating whack-job. Despite his crazy antics and twisted viewpoint on happiness, there was a hidden...cuteness about him. 

_Whatever_.

Bottom line: you couldn’t push him away, no matter how hard you tried. And, frankly, was that such a bad thing?

Yes. Yes it _really_ was.

 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, shifting beneath the blankets and thumping your head against the pillow, attempting to drown out the annoyance that was...your boyfriend. “Dammit! How many times do I have to say it? I’m FINE, and I’m tired, Screwball! So, just!-“

“Ah-Ah-Ah!” The yellow joker wagged a mustachioed finger, sounding as chipper as ever. “That’s _Dr._ Screwball to you, my lovely patient! Now wakey-wakey! It’s time for your check-up!” 

Check-up? Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

For a while, you tolerated his presence. It was typical of him to barge into your house uninvited, so this wasn’t much of a surprise to you. But, once he began to tug at your blanket, you growled, then turning your head to scold him. 

However, before you could do so, a gentle heat flourished across your cheeks as you were met with his spiraled eyes, the tip of his comical nose tickling yours. He blinked, furrowing his brows in faint observation while you gulped, unable to produce even the simplest squeak.

 _Shit_. He‘s adorable.  At least, he _was_ until he gasped in your face.

“Oh, NOOOOO!” he cried, hurtling back into the air and pinning the back of his hand to his forehead, looking distraught. “Just as I feared! You’re sick!”

Grudgingly, you sat up from the bed, the blanket falling from your shoulders, revealing your ovine-themed pajamas. 

“Oh my god, I’m not sick, you moron! I’m just...” You wrinkled your nose, halted by an urge to ponder.

Could you really be sick? Now that you think about it, you _have_ been rather moody lately. Insomnia was creeping its way back into your life, and just the thought of food makes your stomach curl-up in agony. Plus, when was the last time you went outside to spend some time with the locals?

Well, damn. Maybe that clown was really onto something.

Yet, before you could say anything, Screwball flashed his signature, toothy smile, his eyes twinkling at the sight of your pajamas.

“Oh! But I _wool_ not assume the worst!” he chuckled, hovering forward and grabbing your cheeks, squeezing them as if you were the most adorable thing in the cosmos.

Funny. It was as if his mustache took on a completely different texture while functioning as his limbs. His palms were smooth and pleasant against your skin. Apparently, Dr. Jones knew you enjoyed it, too, considering the fact that he was always such a cuddle-bug around you. 

“Quickly, my patient!” he said, then seizing your hand. “It’s time to run some tests on _ewe_!”

Again, he giggled at his own pun, giddily pointing at your nightwear.

“Get it? ‘Cause your pj’s have sheep on them?!”

You tried to stifle a laugh, but to no avail. His absurdity truly knew no bounds. “Oh, shut up, idiot.”

 

And thus began a series of diagnostic tests. Granted, most of them were silly and nonsensical (as to be expected from an intergalactic prankster with an online doctorate), but, nevertheless, you went along with it. He was an idiot, but you did appreciate the time you spent with him. Frankly, it was fun.

And, luckily, none of the tests had you screaming in agony (or, _laughing_ in agony, in this case).

“AHA!” Screwball exclaimed, voice overflowingwith triumph as you plopped down upon your sofa, smirking at his various shouts of glee.

You snickered, watching as his hair would bounce to his lively movements. “Well, don’t keep me waiting! What the hell am I sick with, Doc?”

Overjoyed by the nickname, he neared your face, giving you affectionate taps on the nose before revealing the identity of your illness.

“It appears that YOU, my dear patient, are lovesick!”

_Lovesick_?

Your frowned, straightening yourself, pressing your back against the couch to make some distance between you and the ambiguous doctor.

Did you hear that correctly? Well, you shouldn’t be confused. Screwball was the one who diagnosed you. Yet, even so...lovesick?

You leaned forward, clearing your throat and peering directly into his loony eyes.

“....is there a cure?”

Not what you wanted to ask. That was NOT what you wanted to ask.

Almost immediately, his smile grew even wider, causing a cold ripple of alarm to invade into your chest as he came closer, the bottom of his bowtie brushing against your legs.

“Oh-HOH! I’m delighted you asked!” 

You cringed, clenching your teeth and glaring down at your lap, frightened for what was to come. 

What if he tried to force you to be “better” via some bizarre gadget? He did it before. And, even though he promised he would never pull a stunt like that again, you still had your doubts about his sincerity. After all, just because he was your boyfriend, doesn’t mean that he could no longer be a serious threat.

However, before you could delve deeper into your thoughts, Screwball lifted your chin, winking and declaring in a confident tone, “A thousand kisses from yours truly is the only cure for this sickness, so pucker-up, sweetheart!”

You gawked, completely caught off guard, slamming your palms to his mouth and preventing an onslaught of smooches.

“Hey, hey! What the hell?! NO!” Your face began to burn as you scowled. 

God dammit. At least the ”cure” wasn’t something demented. But seriously? Kisses? Oh, Screwball...

At the feeling of something wet gliding across your palm, you squealed, then pulling your hands back to your side and wiping his saliva on the armchair. “Oh, fuck. Oh, gross!”

Ignoring your whines, the alien clasped his hands together, shaking them, starting to beg.

“But I simply MUST kiss you, my dear!” He shut his eyes, holding back the dramatic tears. “There’s no other way! Trust me, I know! I’ve got an online PhD!”

There was silence as you sat back, unconvinced. It was pretty damn obvious that the poor fool only wanted to kiss you. And now you were wondering just how long it took you before finally giving into his exaggerated pleas.

Screwball opened his eyes, which were slightly blurred from his tears. He fluttered his lashes, letting out a meek, “Please?”

_Fuck_. Apparently, it only took five seconds.

“Okay, fine! But, let’s just take it slow, alright? Only a few at a time,” You sighed, grasping his hands, presenting him with a hard, solemn look. “Think you can do that for me, hon?”

The punster blinked away his tears, his smile shrinking, his clown wig drooping to his sides in a deflated manner. Weirdly enough, he appeared to be processing what was asked of him. Hell, this was quite possibly the most _serious_ you’ve ever seen him. It was remarkable, to say the least, and even a tiny bit unnerving.

Before long, however, he was back to his usual, grinning-self.

“Why, certainly!” he beamed, drawing closer, giving your hands a tender squeeze. “Anything for my beloved patient!”

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Screwball slowly (but eagerly) gave delicate, little pecks along the sides of your face. At first, you stiffened, allowing your insecurity get the better of you.

But, gradually, you relaxed, letting him do what he pleased. Essentially, he _was_ honoring what you asked of him. 

Screwball chuckled, smooching your cheeks multiple times before moving to your forehead and nose. It reminded you of being kissed by a puppy, only without all the slobber and licking. Yet, the endearment was still there. 

You flushed, now finding yourself giggling like a lovestruck nerd.

“I hear laughter!” he gushed amidst his pecks. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re _feeling_ better, dearie!”

Smiling softly, you freed your hands and grasped his face, delivering a long, hearty kiss to his lips, which tasted like rainbow sherbet. He squeaked, startled by the presence of your lips, but enjoyed it, nonetheless. Sure, his nose would get in the way, but the two of you managed.

My, my. Perhaps you really were lovesick.  And, as it turns out, the _true_ cure was simply accepting your crush on this giant, yellow dork. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled, now holding him close, delighted with how warm his body was. “I’m feeling much better now. Thanks, Doctor Screwball.”

The latter smiled, nestling himself against your chest. “Oh! My absolute pleasure, sweet cheeks!”

 

And, just as you began to settle, began to finally make peace with the lovey-dovey truth, your stomach started to growl, reminding you that you haven’t even made breakfast yet. 

“Hungry?” Hearing your stomach’s insistent whines, Screwball perked up, already on his way to the kitchen. “Oooh! Oooh! Allow me!” 

Although, once you realized the particular cabinet he was floating towards, you panicked.

“Wait, Screwball! Don’t open that!-“

_Shit_.

“You...you KEPT my rubber chickens?!”

“Oh my god, Screwball, I-“

“How EGGcellent! Looks like you couldn’t help FOWLing in love with me, sweetheart! I know we’ll be together, through CHICK-and-thin!” 

 

“Screwball, for the love of god...”

**Author's Note:**

> because this was obviously needed


End file.
